


The WidowEye Collection

by NightStar21



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Thor's been mentioned but he hasn't actually shown up yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightStar21/pseuds/NightStar21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and one shots of the Master Assassins. Some fluff, some angst, some LOLz, all Clintasha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As Long As You Need Me

SHIELD maintained a modest building in the heart of Manhattan where they kept the administrative offices on the ground floors, labs and research and development on the next several, and finally, apartments on the upper levels for the operatives who didn’t have lives outside of the job.

Natasha Romanoff knew that it was silly, but she greatly enjoyed the windows of her modestly furnished dwelling. The corner unit provided a breath taking view of the bustling streets as well as providing her a quick exit strategy if she were ever compromised. 

Opening the door and stepping into the dark apartment, she didn’t react to the lone figure standing by one of those windows, open to the night. The breeze rustled the curtains as the lights from the city below illuminated the familiar features and quiver of the only person she had ever trusted.

“I appreciate you not smashing the window to get in,” Natasha said quietly as she secured the door and stepped out of her shoes.

A humourless chuckle reached her as she padded across the plush carpet to the unmoving archer. “I don’t enjoy going through glass, despite popular belief,” he offered.

Nudging the quiver aside, she hugged Clint, noting his bow resting in his hand as he continued to watch the city. “I don’t think anyone does,” sighing, she rested her head on his back, “Staying tonight?”

“Of course, Tess,” setting his free hand over hers, he looked back at her, “For as long as you need me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks and love to my OtherHalf for beta-ing for me and letting me bounce ideas off of him. I don't own any of the characters mentioned in this work, if I did I wouldn't be going to work now would I? Crossposted on ff.net. Important note: I saw Avengers eight times. I, and several others, heard Clint say "Tess" not Tasha. As this debate will not be settled until I can flip on subtitles and I have already written several pieces, I have determined that Tess is Clint's private name for Natasha in my personal headcannon. I appreciate your understanding :)


	2. Reminded Me Who I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Partners help each other heal

They always bandaged each other up after shared ops. It originally had been a pragmatic habit, as someone else wrapping cracked ribs and treating shoulder injuries made sure it was done right. As time went on, it became a more intimate time for the couple. No words were needed as Natasha retrieved the medical kit from her duffle bag and Clint unzipped his shirt. She always insisted on fixing him up first, he had learned quickly not to argue with the red head. 

The small amount of exposed skin gave the spy a good preview of the rest of the archer’s body. Black and purple bruises blossomed amidst a crisscross of cuts and scrapes. Barton eased himself onto the room’s cot with clenched teeth and a muted groan. Without bothering to do anything more then kick her boots off, Natasha sat beside her companion and began the slow process of patching him up.

Normally they talked quietly while she worked, but not tonight. They sat in a silence broken only by the occasional hiss of pain. Natasha dabbed at a particularly nasty cut on his collarbone but paused when he tried to speak.

“Loki- He-“ the archer whispered hoarsely.

“I know, Clint,” the spy leaned close. “I know,” she gently pressed her lips against the cut she had treated, aware he was thinking of the trickster’s control on him and what it did to his mind.

The tender motion launched Clint into action. Grasping her leather clad shoulders; Barton pulled her over until she straddled his legs and kissed her deeply, desperately. He broke away only to press his lips against hers again, tongue invading the Russian’s mouth until he finally drew back, leaving them both panting. Immediately turning his attention to her slender neck, the archer nipped and gently sucked on her pulse point. After a long moment punctuated only by her quiet moans, he whisperingly pleaded in her ear: “Remake me Natasha. Remind me who I am.”

The former Soviet spy cradled his face in hands as she looked into his stormy blue eyes. Eyes that told her so much more then he ever could: the fear, the guilt, and the pain. She kissed him slowly, letting her hands slide down his neck to his chest before carefully pushing his shirt off his shoulders.

Wrapped in his strong arms, Natasha curled around him. “You are Clint Barton,” she murmured, “and you are my partner.”


	3. I Don't Think We Need To Go Anywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha doesn't dance, but Clint is very persuasive.

Natasha didn’t want to go to the Avenger’s Tower commencement party, but Pepper had asked as a favor. The Russian beauty didn’t consider the other women a friend, but she did feel a kinship in being one of the few women in the boys’ club. Not to mention that she felt she owed the strawberry blonde after the whole Natalie Rushman affair.

The spy stood with Pepper, Tony, and Banner quietly discussing little things that needed improvement or modification in the newly renovated Avengers Tower. For the most part, the transition and move had gone rather smoothly with only a few minor hiccups. The conversation remained relatively normal until a late arrival approached the group.

“Reed! Long time no see! Decided to finally see how the other side parties?” Stark greeted the other scientist and old friend.

Reed Richards laughed as he shook hands with Tony and Bruce. “I have to admit, I’m jealous of the view.”

“Not to mention the R&D with two of the most brilliant minds on the planet,” the billionaire continued, nudging the older man with an elbow.

“That too! I was actually hoping to compare notes with you and Dr. Banner on gamma radiation.”

“Your research uncovered more unique variations of results than mine did,” Bruce, standing out in the crowd wearing loafers with his tux and his jacket hanging awkwardly, mused. “I would like to see your reports.”

Tony clapped his hands together in anticipation. “Why don’t we go down to the lab and get Jarvis to start cross referencing-“

“You aren’t thinking of leaving the party I spent all week coordinating to go play mad scientist, are you?” Pepper broke in, giving her boss a look that could freeze lava.

The three geniuses looked at each other, then at the woman waiting patiently. They all began rambling at once: “Monday? Monday’s good for me. Let’s do Monday.” 

Natasha shook her head in amusement. At least the super scientists were smart enough to know better then go toe to toe with Pepper Potts. 

Restricted to the room full of SHIELD and NYC officials, the men began babbling in a language even Natasha considered foreign: quantum astrophysics. Deciding to strategically retreat, she began scanning the room for the one person she understood.

An open door led her out onto the balcony where Clint stood in the shadows. He leaned against the railing, watching the city as he took a leisurely drag from a cigarette. The spy checked to ensure they were alone and the area was clean before approaching her partner.

Hearing her come closer, Barton turned. In one smooth movement, he extinguished the cig and flicked the butt into the darkness. She knew that he often used the need for a smoke as an excuse to quietly remove himself from crowds when they weren’t on a mission even if he didn't need the nicotine fix.

Natasha leaned on the railing beside the archer and couldn’t help but smile as she noted he had already undone his tie and the top three buttons if his shirt. He could wear body armour, layers of tact gear and Kevlar, but a tux seemed to strangle the man. 

“Had enough?” Clint asked companionably, looking back over the city with his shoulder just touching hers.

“Everything was going well until Richards showed up. I don’t think I have ever gotten so lost in a conversation so quickly.” The wind kicked up, and she hugged herself for warmth as the plunging black cocktail dress did little against the chill.

Watching her, Clint slid a little closer to offer his body heat to her. After a moment of comfortable silence, he brushed his lips against her ear and murmured, “Dance with me, Tess.”

She turned her head to meet his eyes, their noses almost touching. “I don’t dance.”

“I remember you dancing in Prague,” he countered.

“That was different,” she insisted, “I needed to get that gunrunner’s attention.”

“He wasn’t the only one who noticed you.”

The Prague mission had been a relatively easy tag-and-bag one. Hydra’s Czech arms dealer had set himself up in a crowded nightclub making it all to easy for the Black Widow to do her work. Hawkeye had stayed in the rafters, covering the exits and watching his partner. To blend in with the club scene and get their target’s attention, Natasha had worn clothes that showed far more skin than they covered. From the micro mini skirt, plunging midriff shirt, stilettoes and her hair cascading down her back, any man with a pulse noticed her especially when she started to dance. Clint had watched her get dressed, but even he was captivated by her allure, mystery and beauty as she moved to the techno beat pounding through the club.

“I don’t dance on my time,” the red head hadn’t let the argument go.

“It’ll keep you warm,” the archer tried.

Sighing, she straightened and faced her partner.

He smiled smugly as he wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her near. She settled one hand in his free one and the other on his strong bicep. The assassins danced slow and close to the dull roar of the city far below mixed with the faint strains of chamber music from the party inside. Natasha sighed again, but one of contentment rather than exasperation. She rested her head on his chest and relished in the sound of his steady heartbeat.

Clint slowly turned them until she had her back to the space of wall between the railing and windows. Without ever losing the tempo, he steadily backed her up until she was pressed between the unyielding surface and his chest.

The spy looked up and smiled softly as he kissed her. His hands glided down her waist; one stopping on her hip, the other continued down to the hem of her dress before sliding his fingers up under the tight material.

Natasha pulled back enough to meet the man’s stormy eyes. “Sit rep,” she stated simply.

Without ever moving his hands, Clint peered around her to quickly evaluate the party carrying on beyond the glass. “Stark, Banner, and Richards are still doing their thing. Pepper’s cornered Cap, and no one else even knows we exist.” 

Satisfied with what he said, the red head ran her fingers through his hair and pulled him back down to her. Bracing against the wall behind her, she found her balance and obliged Clint’s silent request to raise her leg to his hip. His hand continued up under the skirt, following her stockings and then garters. 

Calloused fingers, archer’s fingers, gripped her toned ass and traced the curves there. A sudden revelation struck Barton, freezing his hand and making him look her in the eye, silently asking for confirmation of what his fingers were telling him she wasn’t wearing.

Natasha gave him an abbreviated shrug. “It’s not like we’re leaving the Tower tonight and I had an idea how this evening would end.”

Still looking into her green gaze, the archer quickly came up with a strategy. “You go out to the left, I’ll go to the right and we’ll meet back in my ro-“

“Clint,” she interrupted, placing a finger to his lips, “we are two of the world’s best covert assassins.” Natasha smiled seductively before leaning close to whisper into his ear, “I don’t think we need to go anywhere, do you?”

She moved back to gage his reaction. Her partner’s absolutely eager grin was all the answer she needed.


	4. I Can't Loose You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With so much passion and fire in their relationship, when things are good, they're great. When they're bad, things get broken.

The Quinjet pilots tried their best not to listen in on the SHIELD agents being debriefed in the back, but the rising volume made it increasingly difficult.

“Agent Barton,” the woman seethed, “took out the target before I could extract all possible information.”

“Agent Barton,” the man broke in, glaring at his partner, “knew the target had divulged all the information we were tasked to acquire and determined that Agent Romanoff required assistance.”

“That wasn’t your call to make!” the red head snarled.

“Last I checked, it was!” the archer snapped back.

“Agent Romanoff,” Nick Fury broke in over the comm before the spy could retaliate, “I have determined that Agent Barton was correct in his actions. Due to the good work on both your parts, the mission was a complete success. Are there any questions?” he asked in a tone that suggested he was losing patients with his two best agents squabbling like children.

“No, sir,” the two said in unison, giving the crew hope that maybe the remainder of the flight would be calm.

“Then get back to the Tower and recover for the next few days. Fury out.” The comm went silent.

Barton looked over at Romanoff to say something, but her immolating glare had him gripping his bow tight enough for his knuckles to turn white instead.

Silence filled the closed space and the pilots did everything in their power not to make any unnecessary noise, realizing the slightest thing could set off either of the two agents. The furious intensity that radiated from the passengers seemed to only get worse the longer the flight took.

After an eternity, they finally landed on the Avengers Tower landing pad. Black Widow snatched her gear bag and stormed down the ramp before it even touched the ground. Hawkeye swore under his breath as he slung his duffle over his shoulder and scrambled to catch up.

Only when the ringing boot falls faded away did the two seasoned fliers breath a sigh of relief and gratitude that they wouldn’t have to witness the undoubtedly violent fight that was as eminent as a ticking bomb.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Clint broke into a jog to catch up with the red head marching like a juggernaut to her room. He ignored Tony and Bruce in the hall, focused solely on his target. With his attention on the furious woman, he missed the two scientists offering up a silent prayer for the soon-to-be-late Agent Barton.

Once at her door, Natasha paused only long enough to unlock and open the sliding door before going through the portal. She didn’t hit the close button, which gave the archer some optimism that she would talk to him, but she refused to even look at him.

“Damn it, Tess! What are you so mad about?” Clint barked as he tossed his duffle to the floor.

The red head spun and threw her bag down. “You almost ruined my op!”

“It wasn’t you op, it was our op!” he yelled, yanking the zipper of his vest open.

“He had more information we could have used!” Natasha shouted back.

“Last I heard, the only info he had left was what he was going to do to your cold body once he had gutted you!”

“I had the situation under control!” she insisted.

He began working his vest off. “Like hell you did! I know you’re good, but I don’t think you could have gotten out of those shackles before he removed your insides for you!” 

“We won’t know because you decided to step in!”

Tightening the vest in his hands, his voice dropped dangerously. “I didn’t save you just to bury you.”

The spy narrowed her green eyes before she unzipped her uniform and began peeling it off. “I’m going to take a shower. I advise you, Agent Barton, to be somewhere else when I get out.” Turning her back to him, she started towards the bathroom.

Clint threw the vest to the ground as he closed the distance between them. “Damn it, Natasha,” he grabbed her arm and yanked her back, “I’m not done talking to you.”

Her fist connected with his face and sent him towards the floor. He still had a death grip on her arm, pulling her with him, but she used the momentum to bring her leg up and kick him in the head. He finally let go of her as he slammed into the carpet.

“You are now,” the beauty stated darkly.

The archer shoved himself up and back into his feet. “Son of a bitch!” he hissed as he charged forward.

The Russian heard him move and turned to volley an attack. She didn’t move fast enough and was slammed into the wall beside the bathroom door. They stood there, glaring at each other, as they panted for air and calculated the next move.

Natasha got a knee between them and shoved Clint back. He stumbled on her discarded uniform and fell back. She pounced on him without hesitation and covered his throat with her deadly fingers. “I don’t need you to protect me!”

He rolled them and pinned the fierce woman. “I can’t lose you!” he snarled before crushing her lips with his own. The archer raided her mouth and her tongue fought his until she pulled back enough to sink her teeth into his lip.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve Rodgers had spent most of the afternoon putting in time at the SHIELD building’s gym and catching up with the friends he had made over there. It had been a quiet, pleasant day off duty and away from his teammates until he got back to the Tower. As soon as the elevator doors opened on the common room floor, he heard it.

Thumps, crashes, yelps of pain, and generally all sounds of a major battle going down on the floor above. Without hesitation, Rodgers hit the button for the next floor and tore down the hall when the doors opened. He didn’t even register exactly what floor it was before he forced the entry open to the room the sounds emanated from.

The room looked like a total war zone. Smashed lamps, destroyed furniture, scattered gear, shredded clothing and linens covered the floor, and, in the middle of it all, half obscured by the remains of the bed, Romanoff and Barton. The archer had the spy pinned again; one hand pulling her red hair back while the other gripped her breast through the tattered remains of her bra. Natasha gave as good as she got, her hands around his neck and bloody furrows marked the path her nails had dug in his skin. Both froze and looked up at man standing in the door.

“Ever heard of knocking, Captain?” The Russian asked, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

Quickly taking better stock of the demolished room and the scattered remnants of identifiable clothing, Steve shook his head as he realized to what point the initial fist fight had escalated. “Sorry, I didn’t know you two were back already. Problems with the mission?” 

“Successful, but this moron almost blew it.” Natasha scoffed. When Clint tried to argue, she ever so slightly tightened her grip, quickly reducing his words to a savage growl.

“You should be grateful, Barton. The last time I made a woman that mad, she shot at me.” With that the blond slid the door shut and retreated back the way he came. He shook his head and chuckled to himself as the sounds of the resuming battle faded behind him.


	5. Thought You Would Never Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark is obnoxious, especially when he crashes a quiet dinner date

She didn’t like doing mundane “couple” activities as a general rule, but once a year she let Barton take her out to dinner. He always found the nicest, most expensive restaurant in whatever city they were in with the justification that they only went out the one time, so it balanced out. Natasha actually wore something that was not black to the semiformal establishment, much to Clint’s unspoken delight. The dark green sheath dress made her hair burn brilliant and her eyes seem more intense, if that was even possible. Even dressed in a sport coat and tie, the archer felt underdressed beside the Russian beauty.

They sat at a table in a windowed corner, giving them a excellent view of downtown Manhattan and a reflection of the crowded room. The conversation stayed quiet and neutral until the server brought wine and took their order. Once alone, the talk turned to the reason behind their annual dinner.

They did it to celebrate being alive another year. To remember a fatal shot not taken in the shadow of the Cathedral of the Resurrection in St. Petersburg. Budapest, Prague, Moscow, Berlin, Rome, Shanghai, and New York. To recall the friends they had made and the friends they had lost. The mood remained sober but never sad; quiet jokes and fond memories.

The spy held her wine glass in one hand and laid the other on the table, a silent indication of her level of contentment and relaxation. With both her hands above the table, she didn’t have a grip on any of the weapons she always kept on her person. Clint knew as he took her offered hand and traced endless patterns with his thumb that she could still kill with those empty hands. He looked up from her deadly hands to meet her eyes and recalled the other event they went out to remember.

Everything was as close to romantic and perfect as the assassins ever came to, when movement in the window reflection caught their attention. With a shared look, they continued to act like nothing had changed, but the sound of an all-to-familiar voice shattering the tranquility indicated they had most definitely been spotted.

“Hey kids! Fancy meeting you here and you two actually look like you didn’t get dressed in the dark for once! I almost didn’t recognize you!” Tony Stark crowed. The billionaire playboy, still wearing shades indoors and at the late hour, swaggered over and slapped a hand down on Barton’s shoulder. 

Natasha dropped her hand below the table and Clint knew by her expression she clearly intended to use the single shot pistol clipped to her stocking to put a non-fatal injury in the obnoxious man just to make him go away. Leaning back in his seat, the archer received an apologetic look from the obviously embarrassed Pepper Potts standing behind her boss.

“So, what brings you two out tonight?” Tony continued, yanking a nearby empty chair over and sitting in it backwards.

“We were enjoying a quiet dinner. Alone,” Natasha stated darkly.

“That’s funny, so were we but you’re at my table,” the billionaire snarked right back.

He knew how juvenile it would sound, but Clint gritted out: “I don’t see you’re name on it.”

Stark paused, putting a finger to his lips as he pretended to contemplate Barton’s words. After a moment, he snapped his fingers and quickly pulled the table cloth up until the plaque embedded in the wood became evident: In honor of Tony Stark for his generous contribution.

The assassins both groaned in unison.

“Ms. Potts? Pull up a chair, we’ll be dining with our favorite SHIELD agents this evening.” 

“I really don’t think-“ Pepper started to say but Tony cut off her protest.

“Who’s the boss?” he asked in a tone that managed to command and still have a touch of playful at the same time.

Sighing with resignation, the strawberry blonde pulled a chair over and sat next to Natasha, apologizing quietly the whole time.

The wait staff, clearly alerted to THE Tony Stark’s presence, quickly brought over wine and appetizers all courtesy of the manager.

After accepting a refill of his drink, Clint raised an eyebrow at the dark haired man finally sitting in his chair properly. “Just how much of a contribution did you make?” 

“Oh, just enough to make them eternally grateful and also have them put my name on all the tables.”

The red head looked like she was debating between the pistol or the butter knife in her hand simply because it would hurt more.

Ignoring the glare of death from the spy, Tony turned to her partner. “So, I have a question for you, Agent Barton. Why do you call Agent Romanoff ‘Tess’ whenever you’re alone?”

The SHIELD operatives both stared at the goateed man. After a tense moment, Clint finally spoke, his attitude bored and dry. “The only thing she lets me call her is ‘Nat’.”

“And I only let him call me that,” Natasha clarified in a tone that dared Stark to address her by anything other than her full name.

“No, no,” the billionaire waved his glass to emphasis his point, “I distinctly heard ‘Tess’ and that isn’t a short form of Natasha in any language, I checked!”

Pepper groaned as she leaned back in her seat to give the spy beside her a clear shot at her boss. She flagged down a server and asked in a pleading voice: “Could we please get some more wine over here?”

Tony finally backed down from his inquiry when it became evident that the assassins were the best for a reason. That, and when her meal arrived it armed Natasha with a very deadly looking steak knife. Noting that she kept looking between him and the knife, Stark changed the subject. The dinner didn’t turn out pleasant or enjoyable, but survivable. In the end, Pepper made sure the assassins’ bill fell under the playboy’s and he paid for everything.

After parting ways with the party crashing couple (Pepper still promising to make it up to them), Clint and Natasha started to walk back to the Tower, unconcerned with the dangers of the city. She looked up at him, and linked her arm through his. With the shared look the archer knew her thoughts were the same as his: the last reason they went out once a year.

To remember a time, a mission, when they had seen no way out and both knew they had reached the inevitable end. When the spy who had spent her whole life posing as imaginary people decided to tell someone a name from long before. A name of a girl long since buried under conditioning, training, and a ledger written in the blood of the dead. That night, when facing certain death, the sniper had returned the trust given him with the secret held closest to his heart. He had denied it, but staring Death in the face he knew he couldn’t die without admitting to the spy, and himself, that he loved her and would surrender everything if only she would live another day.

They had survived that mission by pure circumstantial luck. A splinter of wood freed by bloody fingers and a second wind. A lax guard exhausted by hours of duty. SHIELD finally cutting through bureaucratic red tape and showing up.

Afterwards, they never talked about what happened in that pitch-black cell. Only when the two were alone did Barton call Natasha by that forgotten name, and she let him. Some things between them never needed voicing, but in that name he could reaffirm everything the fiery redhead already knew about the trust and love they had for each other.

Clint laced his fingers through hers and squeezed until she squeezed back. “Want to tear apart the Tower again and rip out every relay Tony apparently replaced?”

Natasha’s smile sent a quick chill down his spine. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	6. Things the Avengers Only Learn About After They Move In Together or Clint Sings In The Shower. Loudly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the first night in the Avengers Tower, Clint Barton is feeling pretty good. Much to the other Avenger's disdain

**  
**

_“Did you write the Book of Love?  Do you have faith in God above if the Bible tells you so?”_

Natasha bolted awake, knife in hand and ready to attack. It took a moment of evaluating the place to register what had woken her so suddenly. Sighing in amused exasperation, she recalled the events that had led up to the rare occurrence of singing coming from her shower.

The first day of living in the recently finished Avengers Tower had gone rather well, even enjoyable. Appraising the redhead’s living quarters first, the two assassins had systematically located and disabled every audio and video relay in the room. Stark had designed a technological world with JARVIS present everywhere and at all times to respond to any inquiry. The feeling of being monitored, even by the benign program didn’t sit well with the SHIELD agents, so they remedied the situation.

 _“And do you believe in rock n' roll? And music save your mortal soul? Can you teach me how to dance real slow?_ ”

After satisfactorily debugging the room and dinner, Clint had suggested testing the bed’s structural integrity under extreme measures. Natasha had just stared at the archer with a raised eyebrow until he had decided to show her exactly what he had in mind.

“ _I know that you're in love with him 'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym. You both kicked off your shoes.”_

Add in a solid night’s sleep with everything else and Clint Barton apparently felt pretty damn good.

_“Man, I dig those rhythm & blues!”_

Natasha rolled onto her stomach, propped her head up on one hand and waited. Never one for long showers, the sniper slid out of the bathroom, still scrubbing his hair dry with a towel.

_”I was a lonely, teenage broncin' buck with a pink carnation and a pickup truck but I knew I was out of luck The day the music died”_

Glancing in the mirror as he hiked his jeans up, Barton grinned at the spy boring holes into the back of his head. He paused the song long enough to pull a t-shirt over his head and grabbed Natasha’s robe off the dresser before he belted out the chorus as he crossed the room.

 _”And was singin' bye-bye, Miss American Pie drove the Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry. Them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye singin' this'll be the day that I die,”_ he kissed the top of her head, _”This'll be the day that I die.”_

“It should be for waking me up this early on my day off,” the Russian growled without much real force. Taking her offered robe from the sniper, she sat up and slipped it on, knotting the sash.

He laughed and made his way to the door. “I’ll make up for it with breakfast.”

Opening the door, Clint found himself facing Tony, Pepper, Steve and Bruce, all still dressed in t-shirts and the lounge pants or shorts they normally slept in. After an awkward, tense moment, Tony started to slowly applaud.

“I don’t think Don McLean’s ‘American Pie’ has ever been performed quite like that or that freakin’ loud this early in the morning,” Stark said sarcastically.

“Damn, I thought we got all the relays last night,” Barton replied cheerfully.

“You did, actually, and by the way I’m sending you a bill for that,” the billionaire glared, clearly annoyed at the other man’s unfaltering mood.

“Then the bathroom has some amazing acoustics,” the archer clapped his hand on Tony’s cheek twice before moving past him and giving Steve a friendly punch on the arm. “C’mon Rodgers, I’m making pancakes!”

Natasha came up to the open door and leaned against the jam. “He’s in a good mood,” she said, causing Pepper and Bruce to turn and look at the redhead.

“Oh?” Bruce asked, stifling a grin of revelation.

The spy combed her fingers through her messy hair, trying to get it under control. “He only sings when he’s in a good mood.”

“Really?” the strawberry blond inquired playfully, smiling and sharing a glance with the gamma specialist.

“He also makes pancakes,” Natasha looked after the archer, “otherwise it’s waffles if he makes anything at all.”

Still watching Barton explain ‘the day the music died’ to Rodgers, Stark hadn’t noticed where the Russian had come from. “And what put Legolas in such a good mood?” he grumbled, causing Pepper to snicker.

Her laughter made Tony turn back and finally realize Natasha’s location and state of dress, or lack there of, as she stood there in nothing but her silk robe that stopped mid-thigh. He started looking between the retreating sniper, the spy, and the widow’s hourglass rotating on the screen on the outside of the door and back again. He gaped at Natasha. “You and-“

“Yes,” the redhead interrupted, her expression suggesting boredom.

“How lon-,“ the playboy started again, disbelief clear in his face.

“A while.”

Tony rolled his head to his personal assistant. “That would certainly put me in a good mood.”

Pepper smiled and sighed as she took her boss’ arm and steered him in the direction of the elevator. “I’m sure it would, but now, breakfast and I’m pretty sure it won’t take Clint three hours to make one dish.”

“You still won’t let the omelet go? You could have at least tried it after all the effort I put into it.”

As the couple walked off, Banner gave Natasha a quite smile. “By the way, tell Barton his Russian needs work.”

Perplexed, the spy caught the astrophysicist by the arm as he started to follow the others. “What are you talking about? Clint doesn’t sing in Russian.”

“No,” Bruce smirked good naturedly, “but my room is above yours and apparently he screams in it when you-“

She quickly but gently put her hand over the doctor’s mouth to stop him, her expression panicked. “Thank you, Bruce, I’ll mention that to him. Breakfast?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't heard Jeremy Renner sing, please go now to YouTube and search for "Lovely Jeremy Renner Singing". It's a segment from the movie Love Comes for the Executioner when he sings "American Pie". The lyrics (which I don't own btw) have been tweaked in this to match how he sings it (cause I might have had the audio on repeat when I wrote this LOL)


	7. Finding Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All we can ever hope for in life is to find peace if only for a moment.

Clint Barton found himself lying awake and remembering a quote from a bad CG sci-fi movie: “The dream is always the same.” He just wished it didn’t ring quite so true with him. The dream of her blood, his tears and a fear so strong he could taste it haunted his every sleeping hour. While he could blame a lot of recent issues on Loki, the nightmares had started long before the demigod ever came to Earth. The trickster had only reinforced the archer’s terror that his dreams could become reality all too easily.

Rolling over to face Natasha’s side of the bed, the sniper reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face. He could see the exhaustion in her peaceful features; Fury had run his top agent ragged for the past several weeks and it had started to take its toll. As he watched, her facial muscles twitched and she stirred without waking, revealing to him that her dreams had started. Clint had to resist the urge to move closer and kiss her. He knew that even the slightest touch to her skin would have her awake and pulling the knife from beneath her pillow before he could stop her. 

“снайпер,” the Russian murmured in her native tongue. Memories of his dream seized Clint and he almost pulled the redhead against his chest anyway. He contemplated that the pain from her blade would solidify reality as well as let him hold her close. He wanted, needed, her to chase the fear away from his heart. To remind him that the dream wasn’t real and he hadn’t carried out orders he now considered unthinkable. At the time, they had simply been orders to eliminate a potential global threat, but time made him look at it differently.

Clint Barton had almost willingly killed the woman he loved before he even knew her.

He always remembered how the cold had made his fingers stiff. The Cathedral of the Resurrection had thrown shadows so dark and deep he had difficulty picking out his target’s crimson hair as she crouched against a tower. He had the shot and had started to loose the arrow, but the arctic temperatures made his fingers slow to respond. They had only just started to move when she looked up. Her eyes, so beautiful, so haunted, froze him in an instant. 

If not for the icy conditions he would have killed her that day. He never forgot how close he came to taking her life. He had almost snuffed out the light of the woman who had redeemed him with his own hands. The archer often woke in the night terrified that he had followed Nick Fury’s orders and his time with the assassin was nothing more than a dream.

“Clint?” Natasha’s voice, quiet and groggy, startled him out of his thoughts. The spy slid closer to fit against his chest and placed a gentle kiss on the scar marring his collarbone.

He hugged her tightly and murmured into her hair: “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The redhead barely moved as she shook her head. “You didn’t. I’m cold.”

Clint pulled the blankets up around their shoulders and gave into his earlier urge to kiss her. He knew that when Natasha woke up cold, she had dreamt of St. Petersburg as well.

She kissed the line of his jaw, her teeth just barely scrapping his skin. In response, the archer let his hands glide over her body as he moved to whisper words in her ear that he would never say aloud. The spy breathed his name and any resolve he had to simply let her go back to sleep vanished. 

Quiet sighs and soft moans never escaped the warm confines of their nest. In the darkness, he worshipped her scarred body, the pinnacle of perfection in his keen eyes. Cradled in his strong arms, she clung to him. The deep chill the dreams left behind in both of them disappeared somewhere between her whimpered cries and his shuddered groan. As he settled heavily on her heaving chest, Clint knew he had found peace, if only for a moment, with the woman he had saved. 

Waking at the first light of dawn coming through the floor to ceiling windows, Clint carefully slipped out of bed without disturbing Natasha. He stretched as he made his way into the bathroom to grab a shower and found he felt rested for the first time in a week. After falling back asleep with his deadly angel still cuddled close, the archer had slept the dreamless sleep assassins only hoped to experience. 

Finishing up shaving, he heard his phone beep. Rubbing his face dry, Barton stepped back into the bedroom to check the device. Smiling at the text from Fury, he turned off the cell. Crossing back across the room, he tossed the towel around his waist towards the bathroom and cut off Natasha’s alarm before kneeling on the bed. 

The spy groaned as Clint tried to gently ease the blankets away from her. “We have the day off,” he murmured softly, “let me back in.”

He didn’t know if she actually woke enough to fully comprehend his words or not, but she relinquished her death grip on the sheets. She shifted to one side and the archer slid back into his usual place. He pressed against her, kissed her hair, and happily drifted back to sleep.


	8. A Lesson In Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year after joining SHIELD, Natasha learns a valuable lesson and some things about her partner she never suspected.

One year after the St. Petersburg mission

After a year of psych analysis, testing, training, and briefings, Natasha had her first mission as an agent of SHIELD. Nothing complicated, just removing a target from the world. She could probably complete it with her eyes shut, but Agent Barton had just shook his head. 

Agent Clint Barton, her partner. The spy didn’t know if she could ever get use to the idea of having someone watching her back and making a call on the situation from a distance. She had always operated alone; having a partner just meant she had one more thing to keep track of in the middle of an op.

“Here he comes, you ready?” the sniper’s voice in her ear actually startled her for a moment. 

She slipped her discrete pistol out from the waistband of her jeans, previously hidden by her jacket. “Just be ready with that extraction you promised me.”

He chuckled humorously. “I’m not going to leave you out to dry, just focus on your target.”

Natasha casually made her way closer to the group of people in the Milan plaza. “I have a line of sight.”

“Can you take it?”

“Yes, there’s a civilian in front of him, but that shouldn’t stop the shot from taking Mieter out.”

Barton’s breath caught, she could hear it. “There’s a civy in the way?”

“Not for long.”

“Don’t take the shot. Wait for it to clear.”

The spy continued to walk and watch as the target started moving to a car, the girl still in the way. “He gets in that car, I lose my shot.”

“Taking out an unarmed pedestrian is not under acceptable losses for this mission. This guy isn’t that vital,” Barton stressed.

“If I’m going to complete this mission, I have to take the shot,” she leveled her gun, somehow not attracting the attention of the crowd. For the first time in years, the cold feeling of dread started to creep into her gut. In her line of work, she knew she had to kill or take the place as the target. “Are you trying to make me fail?” 

It took a moment for the sniper to respond, and she figured he had switched to a different comm channel. When he came back on the line, his voice was firm. “Abort mission. The handler says on no terms are the civilians in the target’s party to be harmed.”

“I won’t get another chance at this,” she tried to keep the rising panic out of her voice.

Barton’s voice didn’t waiver. “Fall back to the extraction point for pick up, and pack up the piece, we don’t want to start a riot.”

 

On the taxi ride back to their hotel, Natasha tried to remain calm while she watched Barton. He had tried to start some conversation with her that related to their cover, but she had snapped at him. She hated to admit it, but it impressed her that he just chuckled and said something to the amused driver about sleeping on the sofa for rest of the trip. 

When they reached their destination, she shoved past her partner and quickly strode to the elevator. It took longer to open on the lobby then she thought, as the sniper walked in behind her. Once it started moving up, she heard him sigh.

“I’m not trying to make you fail, by the way. I’m trying to keep you from failing,” he said softly.

Natasha refused to look at him. “Then why did you stop me? For that matter why did you bring me in at all if you were just going to make me fail and let them find a reason to remove me?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at her as if he seeing if the puzzle pieces in his head all fit together. When the elevator dinged, he nodded slowly and took her by the arm. Steering her to the shared room required for their cover, he carded them inside without letting her go. He checked the room before he sighed again and sat her on the sofa.

“We don’t punish failure with death here, Nat. I thought you knew that by now. So the mission was a bust, it happens.”

“Not to me it doesn’t!” she snarled, “And don’t call me Nat, I hate that.”

Barton ignored her. “You need to learn that there are more important things besides just completing a mission! SHIELD isn’t out there to be the faceless secret police. Yes, we eliminate targets, but we’re not going to take out a teenage princess who happens to be in the way to do so!”

That made her pause. “I didn’t have that info.” 

“Neither did I until I ran it back to Coulson. That’s what happens in these missions, things change! You’re in a different world now, Natasha! We have to be accountable for the things we do! The sudden death of a human trafficker is deniable; no one’s going to go looking for the marksman, but a princess? Yeah, someone’s going to want answers and if they don’t get an answer they like, they’ll find someone to pin it on and that is how wars get started and SHIELD isn’t in that business!” the sniper took a breath to calm himself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” the redhead asked, deciding to ignore his insistence on a pet name for the moment.

“Because you need to learn to trust me,” he sat down heavily beside her, “and you need to really know that you can do you’re job and do it right not because you’ll die if you don’t, but because you are the best in this business.” He looked away from her before speaking again, his voice quiet. “I didn’t save you just to bury you,” he looked up at her and met her eyes, “remember that.”

She just stared at him for a long moment until he finally stood up. “I’m turning in,” he said, “just remember you’re now in a world where people want to help you overcome weakness, and not punish you for them.”

“What’s my weakness, Barton?” she asked as he walked away.

“It’s been a year and you still call me ‘Barton’, and not ‘Clint’,” he said, not stopping, “What do you think? You need to trust some people, at least, just a little.” He paused beside the bed, “Some of us already trust you.”

 

Natasha woke suddenly to the sound of a shower starting. It took her a moment to remember the situation before she relaxed enough to sit up. The room’s other bed looked like Barton had tried to make up the tangled sheets by tossing them in the direction of the headboard. Shaking her head, the spy swung her feet to the floor and took stock of the room, looking for any thing different or out of place.

Glancing at the bedside table between the beds, she noticed a small open box that hadn’t sat there the night before. The redhead picked up the container and examined the contents with a troubled expression. The two small devices sitting inside looked like the earpiece SHIELD had provided to her but these items seemed slightly bigger and paired.

“What’s up?” Clint asked, coming out of the bathroom.

“Barton,” she started, still staring at the box, “what are these?”

He sighed. “Natasha, look at me.”

“I just want to know what they are,” the spy didn’t look away.

The archer chuckled softly as he crossed the room and gently took her face in his hands, turning her head gently towards him. “Seriously, I need you to look at me. I can’t read your lips when you’re looking the other way.”

Sliding one hand down to cradle her neck, he carefully picked up one of the little objects with the other and held it up between them. “I guess there’s no sense hiding it from you now. Natasha, I’m deaf,” he smiled crookedly at the redhead’s shocked expression, “rather, I’m eighty-something percent deaf. Or so they tell me, anyway. These are my hearing aids; the SHIELD guys developed them to be smaller then normal ones and have the comm transmitter built in.”

“You’re…deaf?” she said incredulously, having a hard time wrapping her mind around the idea that this superior assassin had a limitation of any kind. In her experience, abnormalities or defects were a death sentence to any Red Room trainee. Her masters had no interest in devoting time or resources to find a less-then-perfect specimen’s hidden talent.

“Yeah,” the sniper’s voice brought her back to the present, “courtesy of my old man. He boxed my ears one night he was drunk and ruptured my eardrums. I think I was seven, maybe eight at the time.” He shrugged, “It wasn’t so bad at first, but it went downhill in a hurry when I was a teenager. The good news is the docs don’t think it’ll get much worse. They also have a theory it’s why my eye sight is so good, the brain compensating and all that.”

“It hasn’t stopped you?” over her initial shock, Natasha had become more curious.

“Never,” he tilted his head to one side and put the first one in, “Back in my circus days it actually helped me, in a way. I was having a hard time and this group of deaf and nearly deaf kids came in on a tour while we were rehearsing. I don’t know why, but I told them I was going deaf but I still did what I wanted to do and they looked at me like I was a hero or something.” He laughed, “That kept me going for a long time.”

“Can you communicate with that hand language?”

“What? Sign language?” he angled his head in the other direction and set the second one in place. “Nah never learned it. I never told anyone except those kids and because it happened relatively slowly, I just started watching people when they talked. I’d miss things on occasion, but ever since I got the aids it hasn’t been an issue.” 

He took the empty box from her hand and set it aside, before cupping her face in his hands again. “It’s like I tried to tell you last night, it’s about over coming limitations, not being punished for them.” The sniper stepped away and started sorting through his luggage.

She pondered his words for a minute before she took a deep breath. “Clint?”

His head shot up like someone had hit him with lightening. He looked at her with an expression that mixed surprise, confusion, and more than a little hope. “Yes?”

“You can call me ‘Nat’,” she looked away, her cheeks burning ever so slightly. “It’s okay if it’s you,” she said, daring to look back up.

His smile, gentle but only because he fought to keep it so, told her so much. “Okay,” he nodded and pulled her into a hug, “thank you, Nat.”

 

That day, they succeeded in their mission. They freed the world from one more human trafficking scumbag when he went off to collect drinks for the princess and her entourage. Natasha had distracted Mieter and convinced him to follow her into an alley where she quietly put a round through his chest. 

Clint had watched from his position on top of a building across the square, bow ready just in case. When his partner gave the signal for mission complete, he already had the extraction team standing by at the next intersection. Back at base, they had both received congratulations on a job well done. 

Natasha finally felt that the SHIELD agents regarded her as an equal, still the new girl, but one of them. She had to wonder if the successful mission caused the sensation or because she stopped looking at them as people trying to find fault with her. She didn’t trust them, not for all the diamonds in Africa, but she didn’t keep a hand on her gun during polite conversations in the halls.

Clint, however, she trusted from that day forward. It took time at first, but she started to trust him to have her back. When the spy realized he wouldn’t let her fall no matter what, she stared to think the emotion he stirred in her went beyond just trust. She never said anything to him, honestly she didn’t know how, but when she looked at him over the briefing table some weeks later and he smiled at her, she couldn’t help smiling back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An important note on this chapter: This is not how Clint lost his hearing. He lost his hearing on a mission with Mockingbird when he used a sonic arrow. As movie!verse is separate from the comic!verse I put my personal spin on it.


	9. Things the Avengers Still Don't Learn Even After Moving In Together or You're Back Early

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha wakes up alone in the Avengers Tower and decides to take full advantage of it

Natasha Romanoff didn’t believe in miracles, but she did believe that sometimes she just got lucky. When she finally woke up and came downstairs on Sunday morning (closer really to afternoon) she found the Avengers Tower completely empty. Clint had gone on a mission without her the week before last and his return flight didn’t get in until much later that afternoon, making him the only one accounted for. Checking with JARVIS, the assassin discovered Steve and Bruce had taken off for their goodwill trip to Cambodia a day early. Meanwhile, Tony and Pepper had left for California on urgent company business.

Feeling almost giddy with having real time alone, the spy found a protein bar and plopped down in the center of the rec room sofa. Turning on the TV, she found reruns of an oddball New York cop show with a lead that reminded her an awful lot of her absent partner. Smiling to herself, Natasha finished the episode and decided to surprise Barton by picking him up from the airport instead of him just calling in a SHIELD ride or taking a cab.

Snagging her mp3 player from her duffle bag, the spy hooked it up to the little used sound system in her apartment. Quickly scrolling to one of her favorite songs, she set it on repeat and placed it on the bathroom counter to start her shower. Enjoying the warm shower and confident in the emptiness of the Tower, Natasha started to sing along with the music. Unlike the archer, she kept her volume at a normal level even when alone. 

Rinsing her hair one last time, the redhead shut off the water and pulled back the opaque curtain. There, leaning back against the counter with a grin on his face, stood Clint Barton. The Russian stared at him for a long moment before saying, quite calmly, “You’re back early.”

Smile broadening; the archer gave her a knowing look. “Were you singing ‘Dream On’?”

Ignoring his question and the water dripping down her body, Natasha kept her voice neutral. “I was planning on picking you up at the airport in two hours.”

“I picked up an earlier flight in to surprise you when I heard the rest of the team had taken off,” he glanced up at the speaker in the ceiling, “This isn’t the original, who covered it?”

The spy noticed her partner’s eyes come back down to her and then follow a particular droplet of water of the curves or her body. “It’s Neil-something from some show called ‘Glee’,” she chose to ignore his wince, “I can actually understand everything he says. Hand me towel?”

The sniper shook his head as he pushed himself off the counter. “Don’t think so.”

Perplexed, Natasha gave him an arched look. “And why not?”

Toeing his boots off, Clint glanced up at her. “Well, for one, you need a serious lesson in music. This, for example, should only ever be performed by Aerosmith.” Turning at the waist, he pulled out his own player and swapped the devices out. After a moment of fiddling the song in discussion started.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. Over the years the partners had gone through more than one conversation about ‘good’ music and the best way to experience it. “Fine, this is better, but that doesn’t explain why you won’t hand me a towel.”

“I’m getting to that,” he said, pulling his t-shirt off, “the other reason I won’t hand you a towel is no one’s home and, like the song says, ‘maybe tomorrow the good Lord’ll take you away’,” he shucked his jeans and boxers before stepping into the tub. “Oh, and you’re dripping wet, naked and I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”

Natasha smiled wickedly. “I guess that’s a good enough reason,” she said before pushing the curtain shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never watched Glee, but I absolutely love Neil Patrick Harris' singing. I actually only understood all the lyrics after listening to the cover, but you can't beat the original. Also a nod to another one of Renner's works. Cause that's how I roll.


	10. I Think We're In Trouble Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back at a mission gone wrong and secrets shared in the dark

“Been a while, hasn’t it?” Natasha asked her partner as she sat down at the briefing table. The Russian had spent the last six months on a deep cover solo mission in the more interesting part of New York City. She had arrived back at base only that morning and her debriefing kept her from even greeting her partner until that moment. “Did you miss me?”

Clint just glanced at her before quickly looking back down at his briefing folder. “Heard you were back,” he finally said dully.

Before the redhead could enquire about the archer’s sullen mood, the Director strode in with Agent Coulson on his heels. “Wheels up in thirty, so I’ll make this quick. A Latverian warlord has decided to take his operation to the global arena, already made connection to the Hydra cell in the area, but his focus now is the man called the Mandarin.”

“Please tell me that’s not what he really goes by,” Barton mumbled, making his partner smile behind her folder. 

Fury gave the sniper his one-eyed glare. “We do not have any real data on the Mandarin at the moment, but he’s not the target. Your target is the warlord, Donavan. Agent Romanoff, you need to remove him quietly before he makes the deal. Agent Barton, you are her back up and eyes. Donavan is well armed, but not so much that it should cause a problem.”

“Got it,” the redhead nodded, “anything else?”

The Director paused and let his voice drop. “Yes. We do not have clearance to put operatives in Latveria. If you are compromised, we can’t help you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” the assassins replied in unison.

 

Natasha hated it when a mission went south, but she really hated it when a greasy piece of eastern Euro trash started lording over her. 

“I’m so sorry to disappoint, little spider, but as you can see, I knew you were here the moment you and you’re little partner stepped off the plane,” Donavan sneered in heavily accented English. For a warlord, he looked underfed and in need of a shower. His black hair hung in stringy locks that could have resulted from an overuse of hair products, but it looked too dirty. He could afford to upgrade the castle’s surveillance and lights, he should have at least piped in hot water. 

He didn’t even have the decency to hold the Black Widow at gunpoint himself. As soon as she had infiltrated his private quarters in the heart of the castle-turned-base, his hired guards had spilled out of hidden passages to surround her. 

She risked a glance upwards, and saw Hawkeye, who had followed her through ductwork and rafters, backed up to a support post and surrounded as well. He looked down meet his partner’s eyes and, when she lowered her guns, he followed suit with a sigh.

They were compromised.

 

“Why does intel get paid twice what we do? They were so far off this time, they might as well have said there was a unicorn in the castle!” Clint ranted, testing the thick shackles running from his wrists to his elbows.

“We needed a full team,” Natasha agreed, similarly restrained, “not just two agents.”

The shackles attached to thick chains imbedded deep in the stone. While allowed to sit on the damp floor, their host had secured their ankles in thick iron as well. The problem with old castles, Barton mused, they always had a fully equipped dungeon. 

“Think we’re in trouble?” he asked aloud.

“Maybe,” the redhead shrugged, unconcerned. “Right now our best plan of action is to wait.”

 

“I’m starting to think we’re in trouble,” Clint rasped.

“I think you might be right,” Natasha whispered back.

Days had passed since their capture and Donavan’s patience in their silence had started to run out. The Americans and the Russians denied any knowledge of the two assassins, not to their surprise. SHIELD operated on a long leash outside of immediate government supervision so that much of what they did fell under plausible deniability. As far as Russia went, they had a file on the Black Widow two inches thick, but they still denied any knowledge of the woman. After the fall of the USSR, Russian relations with Latveria had remained tense giving officials reason to be uncooperative. 

After a long silence, Barton finally asked the question that had haunted him since their capture. “How long before your boyfriend realizes something’s wrong?”

The spy gave him a perplexed look. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged as much as he could in the shackles. “Heard you were dating some blind lawyer from Hell’s Kitchen.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Natasha said dryly as her face shifted to incredulous. “You sit there saying intel is nothing but idiots, and you’re listening to base gossip!”

“I saw you!” Clint snapped. Taking a gulp of air, he looked away before continuing. “I had a mission in New York and I looked for you. I saw you at the Soto sushi place with him,” bitterness crept into his voice, “you looked like you were having a good time.”

“Are you jealous?” she asked, accusing and angry. “For God’s sake, I was on a mission!”

“Your missions include going out to nice dinners with lawyers? You’re pulling a hell of a lot better ones than me!”

“I was inserted as a paralegal to check into the lawyer’s extracurricular activities! The Director took an interest in them when they started showing up in the papers and wanted to get a better idea of what was going on! So yes, I had to get close to him and that meant going out to dinner a few times! You know how this works better than I do! Besides,” she took a breath to regain control of her emotions, “he’s not my type and a little too hung up on a Greek girl with a ninja fetish.”

“Oh,” feeling beaten more by his partner’s words then anything Donavan had done to them, Barton sighed. “I didn’t know he was the mission,” he said quietly. “It’s just, you never let me take you out to dinner. I’d at least take you to someplace that serves food you actually like.”

“I like sushi,” she offered weakly.

“No, you tolerate sushi. You like sirloin steak cooked rare with a salad, no croutons.”

The redhead stared at the archer. “How do you know that?”

He chuckled humorlessly. “I’ve been your partner for over three years. I’ve picked up a few things.”

“Fine,” Natasha said firmly, “I’ll make you a deal. When we get out of here, you can take me to dinner.

Clint’s smile split his lip but his expression didn’t falter. “Deal.”

 

“Your insistence in not cooperating and the failure of anyone to claim you make it pointless to keep you alive,” Donavan gloated. Dressed in the best tailored-made suit money could buy, he seemed out of place in the dank dungeon cell. “I would kill you now, but I have a party that I can’t be late for. Can’t have blood on such nice clothes either, but when I return,” he nodded, “then you die.”

The assassins just glared at the obnoxious warlord. 

“Very well, enjoy your last few hours alive,” he turned to the guard leaning heavily against the door, “I told you not to drink last night!”

“I didn’t!” the man, looking like death warmed over, insisted. “You promised to send me home last night.”

“A few more hours and you’ll be on your way,” the sharp dressed man insisted, “just stand there until I get back. They’re not going anywhere.”

The heavy door slammed shut, followed quickly by the clang of the lock, leaving the SHIELD agents in total darkness. 

“This doesn’t look good,” the archer hissed. His stiff fingers had located a wooden beam just within reach of his shackled hands, and for the past several days he had tried to pry a splinter loose without much success.

“I want you to know something. I never told anyone, but as we’re not making it out of here, I want someone to know who at least gives a damn,” Natasha whispered, her voice cracking every few words.

“What is it?” intrigued and confused, Clint paused his attempts on the wooden beam.

“Before the Red Room, and before the fire, a little girl lived with her father, a man with a bright red beard, and her mother, who sang in the night,” she grew silent and Clint started to think she had finished when she started again. She spoke so softly, he barely heard her. “They called her Tess.”

Barton felt his heart sink. He never comprehended exactly what the monsters had done to her; Natasha never spoke of her life before SHIELD, not even to him. He only knew they had taken her innocence, her childhood, her family, friends, love, compassion, and almost her humanity, but clearly they had taken more. They took her very identity in the hopes, he figured, of creating the perfect automaton. It had almost worked.

His thoughts turned to his own life and the things he had lost before turning to what the warlord intended to take from him. He thought of beautiful haunted eyes looking up at him, and snow melting on fiery crimson hair. Deadly perfect precision and a rare, honest smile. An emotion he refused to acknowledge bubbled to the top of his thoughts, but he quickly shoved it away. He had saved her, worked with her, cared for her of course, but- no. 

The archer thought about the jealous rage that tore through him when he saw her in that restaurant with another man. He had wanted to just shoot the guy and apologize later. Later. In a few hours they wouldn’t have ‘later’, and he refused to die lying to himself.

“You trusted me with your deepest secret,” Clint started quietly, “I’ll trust you with mine. I’ve kept it so deep, I actually denied it, but I want you to know.” He took a breath to steady himself like he did before taking a shot. “I love you, Tess,” he heard her breath catch, “I’ve loved you since I first saw you.”

He found the splinter again. “I’m not making it out of here, but by God, you are. It’s the only thing I can offer you.” Blood running down his hands and under the irons, the archer ripped the tiny sliver free, leaving a large amount of flesh behind. 

“Hawkeye…” Natasha started, words escaping her.

“It’s going to be okay, Tess,” he whispered, struggling to pull his arms through the shackles with the slickness of his blood. If he could free his arms, he could use the shard to pick the locks on her restraints and get her out. “I just wish I could have taken you out to that dinner.”

 

“The Director sends his apologies on the intel, and on how long it took to assemble the evac,” Coulson said to the haggard and bloody pair of assassins strapped to gurneys, only one of which could actuaxxqlly hear him. SHIELD finally attained enough information to be granted sanctioned access to Latveria. The agents had poured into the castle only to find their target gone and the one of the operatives escaping the dungeon while the other remained captive and bleeding. The med teams quickly moved in and got both of the injured agents on the first Quinjet out.

“It took you long enough. Another thirty minutes and it would’ve been a wasted trip,” Natasha glared past the fretting medics at their handler. “Need a break from us that badly?”

“I do,” Coulson admitted with a shrug, “but I’m not sacrificing our best agents for it.” Never one to take the Widow’s venom personally, the agent looked over at the unconscious individual on the aircraft. “I will have to commend Agent Barton on his creativity right after I give him a proper dress down.”

The redhead looked over at her partner. The team had moved quickly to bandage up his abused and abraded arms before starting a blood transfusion. His plan had worked, but it would take him time, and a lot of skin grafts, to recover. “Better let him get back on his feet first,” the spy didn’t flinch when the medic stuck an IV in her arm.

“Oh that’s a given,” Coulson agreed, “but as soon as you two are mobile, you’re heading back out.” 

“Where to this time?” Natasha asked tiredly.

“Fury will give you the full briefing, but I can tell you he wants Donavan brought down. He’s already moved to his secondary base.”

“Dare I ask where that is?”

The agent smiled. “You’ll like it a lot better then Latveria.”

“Where, Coulson?” she asked, her patience thinning.

“Budapest.”

“Never been there,” Natasha confessed.

“Like I said,” he said with a shrug, “you’ll like it.”


	11. I Think We're In Trouble Part 2 or Phil Coulson Isn't Paid Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another mission, this one to Budapest (yes, it's a Budapest story), and night with hope in place of despair

Budapest – One month later

“Coulson-Phil-, c’mon,” Barton pleaded, following the well-dressed SHIELD agent down the hotel hallway.

“You have a mission in,” he paused to check his watch, “eleven hours and thirty-eight minutes. I can’t allow it.”

The archer caught the other man by the arm and pulled him close enough so that he could drop his voice and still be heard. “It’s just dinner. Look, man-to-man, the last time we went up against this guy we almost didn’t make it out alive and I want to do something nice for Natasha, just in case.”

“You have a full team this time, we’re not sending the two of you into another trap,” the handler pointed out.

“Like I said, just in case something does go wrong, I want to take Natasha out to dinner. I would’ve done it sooner but,” he held up his heavily bandaged arms, “I’ve been in medical for the last month.” His tone became deadly serious as he met the agent’s gaze. “It’s taken three years for her to even agree to dinner, I’m NOT missing out on this.”

Coulson’s expression never waivered, but after a moment he finally sighed. “Mission start is still in eleven hours and,” he checked again, “thirty-five minutes.”

A grin of moronic degree spread across Barton’s face. He slapped the man on the shoulder and took off for the elevator, shouting: “I owe you one!” as he ran.

 

“That was some of the best food I’ve ever had in this country! How’d you know about it? Coulson said you’d never been to Budapest,” Clint inquired, stretching as they left the restaurant. 

The redhead gave him a sly little smile. “Let’s just say that Coulson doesn’t need to know I’ve been in Budapest. I’ve only been with SHIELD three years, and the statue of limitations is at least seven.”

The archer’s eyebrows went up as he picked up her meaning. “Copy that.”

Natasha laughed and gently nudged him with her shoulder as they walked down the quiet street. “By the way, it was a nice try but I don’t think that waitress bought your motorcycle accident story. Then again, your Hungarian does suck.”

“We can’t all be fluent in thirty languages,” Clint teased back.

The spy playfully scoffed at his words, “I’m not that good.”

“No,” smiling softly, Clint carefully let his hand brush against hers, “you’re better.”

Looking ahead, she loosely laced her fingers through his. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she glanced at her partner before quickly looking away. “I missed you. It’s been strange not really talking to you since that night in the castle.”

Remembering what he had said, the archer winced and felt his cheeks burn. He had meant every word he had said, but he knew she must think him an idiot. They were partners, damn good ones, and if his feelings compromised that, he would go ahead and throw himself on one of his arrows now. “Natasha, I-“ he started.

In one smooth move, the redhead pulled him to one side as she turned to face him and press a finger to his lips. “Clint,” she looked up at him, and let her guards drop. She let him see the fear of an emotion she didn’t have a name for conflict with wanting nothing more then to let just let go and fall with him. When she finally spoke again her voice held the barest tremor. “Do you want me to go back with you and help you rewrap your arms?”

Understanding what she couldn’t tell him, he nodded. “I’d like that.”

 

They didn’t bother with lights; the glow from the city provided more than enough illumination. Clint pulled Natasha close to his chest and rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and basking in her nearness. After a long moment, he slowly moved his head until his lips just brushed her ear and whispered: “Stay with me, Tess.”

She sighed and pressed against his chest; grateful that they knew each other well enough that he hadn’t taken her silence as rejection. She just didn’t have the words to tell him what she felt. From her understanding, children loved and it was fleeting and brief. What she felt for the archer who had saved her could never adequately be described as ‘love’, but something stronger, something she didn’t have a word for in any language.

The spy looked up at him and let her lips linger just beyond his so that he only had to shift towards her to touch her. “I’ll stay for as long as you need me,” she murmured, hoping he needed her as much as she needed him.

Moving slowly as if afraid to startle her, Clint gently kissed her. Lips parting just as cautiously, Natasha ran her tongue over his bottom lip, silently letting him know she wanted the same as him.

What little reserve he had left vanished and Clint hugged her tightly against him, ignoring the pain that flared up in his arms. He ravished her mouth and her moans and sighs only enticed him more as she gave back as much as he gave.

It didn’t take long before her deft fingers found the buttons of his shirt and she moved her body away only long enough to shove the garment off his shoulders. In returned he tugged at the zipper of her dress, his mouth never leaving hers. Once loose, Natasha pushed him so that he fell back onto the bed. The spy quickly shed her clothes and pounced on her partner.

 

Phil Coulson liked his job. He loved it, really, but some days he just didn’t feel that he got paid enough money to do what he did. Like trying to keep a leash on two completely insane assassins.

Yes, he had let Barton take Romanoff out to dinner eleven hours before mission start. Yes, he knew it would reflect badly on him, but he tried to keep SHIELD’s best agents happy, or at least as happy as two contract killers ever got. It supposed to be ‘just dinner’, nothing should have gone array. 

Then Fury called.

Sighing, the agent paused at Barton’s hotel room and knocked lightly on the door. Hearing nothing, Coulson checked his watch. Given the time, he figured they were either still out to dinner despite the hour, or the archer had done the sensible thing (for once) and turned in early. Hoping against hope for the latter, he swiped his keycard through the lock and went in. He flipped on the light and jumped when he heard “Shit!” yelled from the main part of the room. 

Thinking someone had broken in, Coulson drew his sidearm and carefully slid around corner only to find Barton sitting up in bed with his arms thrown up in defense. The body sized lump over the archer’s lower half and covered by the blanket gave the agent more then a good idea as to what he had walked in on.

“Damn Phil! Haven’t you heard of knocking?” Clint said, trying to catch his breath.

Holstering his gun, Coulson gave the other man his best ‘I’m annoyed’ stare. “I did. You obviously didn’t hear me. Did you already take your aides out, Agent Barton?”

“No, they’re still in.”

“You should probably charge them. Fury called and the mission has been moved up by two hours, which means,” watch check, “mission start in five hours and forty-two minutes.”

“Good to know!” Barton’s voice went up three octaves as he visibly stiffened. 

“Something wrong?” Coulson asked.

“No, no. Mission start in less then six, got it. Anything else?”

The agent continued to stare at the assassin. “Do I need to inform Agent Romanoff?”

“Got it, Coulson,” the Russian said from under the comforter. 

Coulson groaned quietly to himself as he turned around. He really, really didn’t want to think about why she sounded like she was speaking with a full mouth.

“Hit the light Phil?” Barton called, his voice jumping again.

The older man flipped the lights off on his way out and made sure the door shut securely. Alone in the hallway, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. No, some days he just didn’t get paid enough.

 

For the most part, the atmosphere around the SHIELD operatives as they acquired breakfast was the usual sense of tense anticipation. With one exception. 

Barton slid down the buffet of largely untouched hotel breakfast food humming merrily to himself as he selected large amounts of scrambled eggs, bacon and pancakes. He came up beside Coulson and stopped as he reached across the other man for the butter. “Morning Phil.”

The agent already felt a headache brewing. “Where’s is Agent Romanoff?”

“She was in the shower when I left, so she’ll be down in a minute. Everything good to go?” the archer asked, all cheerful nonchalant happiness.

“Yes,” Coulson lowered his voice so that the other agents wouldn’t hear him. “You are aware that you are supposed to clear interagency relationships with the Director.”

That made the archer pause. He contemplated his breakfast for a moment before he picked up his tray. “Maybe the Director doesn’t need to know about this one.”

Coulson decided in that moment if they succeeded in the completion of this mission, he would demand a raise from Fury. Budget restraints be damned. 

 

Everything had gone according to plan. The operatives had tracked Donavan to his Budapest safe house and the moment he stepped inside, Barton and Romanoff moved in.  
At the same time other agents made their way through the back door to keep the target from escaping again.

Just like in Latveria, the warlord still had the drop on them.

Mercenaries had appeared out of the neighboring buildings and parked cars, quickly cutting the master assassins off from the rest of the team. Donavan panicked when the SHIELD agents stormed in the building and ran out into the street through the same door he had just entered. If the mercs hadn’t shown up, he would have run straight back at Barton and Romanoff, ending the mission without fuss. With the firefight raging between the mercs and SHIELD operatives in the street, the warlord had no choice but to take shelter behind a vehicle.

With the bullets flying, Natasha dove behind the nearest parked car and tried to take stock of the enemy versus friendly fire. A commotion beside her had her bringing up her guns, but Hawkeye threw his free hand up to get her attention.

“Just me!” he yelled. Carefully looking through the window of the car, he took in the situation and grinned.

“What’s so funny?” the spy yelled.

“Last night was a lot of fun! We should do that again some time!” Loosing several arrows, the archer looked back and met her gaze.

Reloading her guns, Natasha took out a merc trying to flank them. “You get one dinner a year, that’s it!”

“I wasn’t talking about dinner!” 

Ducking back down below the glass, she looked up at her partner with a knowing smirk. “Donavan is at you’re two o’clock behind the Volkswagen. Take him out and we’ll discuss it.”

Dialing in one of his specialty arrowheads, Hawkeye grinned, “Yes, ma’me!” He sighted his target and let the arrow fly. 

 

Getting off the call with Fury, Phil Coulson found his thoughts strangely turning to his regrets of never settling down with his lost love and starting a family. Years had passed, but he still thought of what could have been, if only.

Exotically beautiful in an eastern European way, the enigmatic Wanda had gypsy blood in her veins. She also had an overly protective twin brother who had decided early on that the quiet man in the suit didn’t deserve his amazing sister’s attention.

He knew any child of hers would have been graced with equal amounts of her beauty and her wild, uncontrolled passion, both in love and in anger.

Turning in his chair, Coulson looked at his two best agents (two best agents who had gone MIA until that morning) and realized that, in theory, these adults had years of training, maturity over teenage offspring. At least with the two sociopaths in questions, the agent could always dock their pay or put them on desk duty. A child of Wanda’s would take any punishment and then burn the house down in retaliation.

Removing the headset, Coulson regarded the agents on one side of the Quinjet. Barton lounged lazily in his seat, arms stretched out to either side, his fingers just brushing his partner’s shoulder. Romanoff, on the other hand, looked mildly bored as she ignored the archer and used a length of looped piano wire to weave cat’s cradle.

The agent cleared his throat to get their attention. “The Director was not happy about the firefight spilling into the street, but the mission was a complete success.”

“Go Team SHIELD,” the archer muttered, not looking up.

"He passed along his compliments on the kill shot. The arrow through Donavan's left eye was a complicated shot even for you."

"It's all about the motivation, Phil."

Ignoring him, Coulson continued. “Fury also asked if there was any unauthorized activity on this mission.”

That got Barton’s attention. He looked over a Romanoff with mild panic on his face. “I think we’re in trouble.”

The SHIELD agent smiled in his little way and shrugged. “I don’t get paid enough to tell Fury everything. However, if my requested raise goes through, it might be different next time.”

Before he turned back to his console, he didn’t miss the subtle, but very genuine smile on Natasha’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nod to the rumors going around about who Coulson really is. A girl can hope, right?


	12. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the strongest warriors have moments of weakness. A good partner knows how to stand by and catch the other when they start to fall.

Nights after a rough mission, when the aches of her body and tired thoughts finally caught up, the most secret side of Black Widow came out. Over the years of their partnership, Clint learned to keep a subtle eye on her to catch her when she started to fall. 

The Director called their mission a success, but Natasha had taken a significant amount of damage in the process. She lay on the sofa in Barton’s apartment with a Gatorade, a German chocolate treat and a bottle of naproxen sodium all within her easy reach as she flipped through the cable channels for something to watch. The archer sat nearby, staying close without smothering the redhead, knowing how much pain she was in without her ever having to say a word.

Selecting a Discovery Channel show, the spy popped two pills and ripped open the chocolate. She munched quietly as Clint nursed a beer and checked his email. After a little while, she grew quiet and before the show even ended, Natasha had slid further down the sofa so she could lie flat. Pocketing his phone, the archer stood and stretched, his own sore muscles protesting, before he moved to the sofa.

“C’mon, Nat, let’s get you tucked into bed here,” he murmured softly, gently resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I can make it back to my apartment,” she protested weakly, her eyes never opening.

He chuckled softly, “You could, but my bed’s closer.”

The Russian gave in rather easily, a testament to her exhaustion and pain. Ignoring his offered hand, she moved slowly to ease tormented muscles in the direction of the darkened hall. Clint followed closely, wanting to carry her but he knew the hard way that she never hurt too much to walk on her own. Not for the first time, he cursed her stubborn pride.

Once in the darkened room, the sniper started pulling the sheet and comforter down so she could get in. Despite popular belief, he at least made a half-assed attempt at making the bed most mornings. It was the Widow who turned beds into tangled nests, not the Hawk.

Turning, the sniper found his partner stripped down to just her underwear, the soft sports bra and panties the ideal night apparel. Without a word, she slipped past him and carefully slid between the sheets. Clint pulled the blankets up to her shoulders a placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He started to move away when he heard her start to whisper.

“I’m afraid to fall asleep at night. In the Red Room, girls often fell asleep and never woke up,” the redhead looked away, staring into the darkness of the past that haunted her.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed beside her, the archer brushed her hair out of her eyes. “You think you won’t wake up?”

Natasha barely moved her head as she nodded. “They probably died from untreated concussions or internal bleeding, but I didn’t think that then. I just knew I would be the next one to never wake up.”

Reaching out, Clint gently brushed his fingers over her eyes, encouraging her to close them, his heart clenching at the tears he felt. “Sleep, Natasha. I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, work has royally handed me my rear end as of late and cosplay (which I think looked awesome) took up the rest of the time. I finally decided to put this one up because 1) it's the only one of the three I have that's finished and 2) my OtherHalf who is my beta reader is currently busy playing Halo 4 and I have learned there are just some things I can't compete with LOL. So please enjoy! On a more serious note, this is actually based on a conversation I had with OtherHalf one night.


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